The governor of Brixton prison and I had a row not long ago. Nothing new about that, I've been at odds with the Prison Service for the best part of half a century.

This particular dust-up happened after I'd written a comment piece for the Guardian. It accompanied a news story that reported that - according to Home Office - Brixton was, officially, the worst nick in England and Wales. I thought the place stank of oppression, racism and out-and-out brutality.

I had written that partly based on my personal experience (though I last "lodged" in Brixton in 1990); and partly on anecdotal evidence, from people I trust, who said the jail fully deserved its bottom-of-the-league status (it then had one performance star - it now has two).

A few days after my piece was published, I went to Wormwood Scrubs as an invited guest. I was talking to a prisoner in the chapel, when a burly, pleasant-looking man approached. "John Podmore," he said, as we shook hands. "Governor of Brixton. Thanks for giving us a kick in the bollocks the other day."

My response would have been something along the lines of: "It was a pleasure," but I was busy with the con I was speaking to. So I smiled and turned away, intending to talk to him later. Unfortunately, Podmore left soon after and I missed my chance.

The next day, I phoned his office and asked to speak to him. He came on the line. In a nutshell, he told me that he was in the process of transforming Brixton and could do without negative reports like mine. I asked if I could visit and see for myself. The Home Office eventually gave permission and in I went.

I'm a sceptic, but I was genuinely impressed. Podmore does appear to be turning the jail around, big-style. On top of that, he talks more sense than any other prison official I've met.

First, I spoke to a few prisoners. Each said the place had improved beyond recognition. That tied in with the feel of the place when I walked through the gate. "No hassle", "atmosphere much lighter", "very few one bells" (an alarm signal that goes off when there's been a violent incident). Those were just a few of the positive things they told me.

A word with the chair of the board of visitors followed, mainly to establish how much the segregation unit (the punishment block for those who break the rules) was being used. "Very little," was the reply. Always a good sign, in my book.

Then, the governor himself. The first thing you notice about Podmore is his passion. He was evangelical as he explained how he might tackle the problems of the human warehouses otherwise known as jails.

And what problems: 60%-70% of Brixton inmates are crack users outside, with all the attendant withdrawal problems that poses when they enter prison. More than half of the jail's population will have experienced a psychotic episode in the previous two years (Brixton sections on average one inmate a week under the Mental Health Act - an astonishing figure from a population of 800).

How had he begun to combat the jail's historically poor reputation? "We are in the people business," Podmore replied. "I won't tolerate staff who don't understand that prisoners are people." He went on: "I tell new recruits: 'If you can't work with sex offenders or drug misusers, if you have preconceived ideas that are prejudicial to those individuals, then you shouldn't be here.'"

Podmore talks about the community a lot. An outward-looking governor is a rare beast. He spoke of the troublesome welfare system, about how housing and benefit agencies must work together with prisons. The Brixton community was a pleasure to work with: "We take our prisoners from that population, and we are sending them back. So the population must work with us."

Some of his ideas are simple, but in a prison context, radical. For example, he wants to develop communal eating in his prison. "At the moment, my guys grab a tray, queue up for their grub, then go back and eat it in an eight-by-12 toilet. What are we teaching them there?"

Brixton is the third jail that Podmore, a former teacher, has governed. At Swaleside, in Kent, he set up a drugs rehab unit that had, among other things, its own cooking facilities. When official visitors came, instead of tea and biscuits in the governor's office, they would eat a proper meal, cooked by prisoners on the landings. Tables would be set and prisoners, visitors and staff would sit down and eat together. He recalls how, on one occasion a fellow diner told him: "This is the first time I've sat down at a table, with a proper tablecloth and knives and forks, for seven years."

My view is that this governor is a long way ahead of the usual Prison Service game. Some of his ideas echo the stark, sheer common sense principles of the Woolf report that followed the Strangeways prison riot of 14 years ago, almost to the day.

The tenets of that document have been largely ignored by successive home secretaries. Podmore ought to go far. My fear is that his menu may be a little rich for Prison Service appetites.